Chronicles of the Spellsingers
by daeneverfinishes
Summary: The adventures begin when a hobbit leaves his hole in the ground and finds a boy beneath a tree one misty morning. These are the accounts of those in an age long past. Slight AU.
1. Preface

**Preface**

Although many copies exist of the adventures of the Halflings Bilbo Baggins, his cousin Frodo Baggins and their kinsmen Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Samwise Gamgee – not many know of the involvement of the _Istalindar_, Spellsingers in the Common Tongue.

During the last days of the Third Age – the war against the Enemy, Sauron the Deceiver was dire more-so than what is described upon the pages of the Red Book of the Periannath. For not only did the Enemy wish to rule over the free peoples of Middle Earth he wished to cross the barriers between worlds through dark magic begun by the remnants of Tom Riddle's Death Eaters roughly III 3016 (2002 – Gregorian Calendar, GC).

Subsequent copies failed to mention the latter focusing only upon the War of the Ring and nine members of the Fellowship formed in the counsel of Elrond. Much of the notes within the Periannath's book had been lost through time. Although those notes of the halflings, men of the West, the Eldar and Durin's folk have managed to survive.

When the halfling Frodo Baggins began to write his own account of his adventures, it originally included his finding of the wizard Harry James Potter on the 7th day of Lótessë, III 3002 (May 7, 1988 GC). It also included an account of said wizard's early days within the Shire, as well as the boy's journey to Bree where he encountered the late King Elessar, during the time he was known as Strider of the Dúnedain.

It also included the latter adventures Frodo Baggins had involving Harry and his kinsmen many years after his disappearance from the Shire. As noted by Thain Peregrin upon commissioning the Royal House to draw up a record of events for the library in the Great Smials that the state of the Red Book of the Periannath was revealed.

In a letter to one Hermione Weasley dated 2 Narvinyë, IV 63 (December 24, 2070 GC) he wrote:

_ If I may inquire prior to my arrival to Gondor that a book may be commissioned to replace what was lost in the Red Book that was handed to Elanor when Sam left for the Undying Lands just last year. It has come to my attention that Elanor's nephews – the rapscallions Friduric and Jurian had lost their grand-uncle's heirloom whilst playing by their great-grandfather's fields prior to the yearly storms. I have been told that the children had tried to find the book but were unable to retrieve it until after the first storm of the season. By then much of the writing has faded. I have promised my good friend's daughter that some sort of record will be kept to re-establish what was lost. My own family has a library as you know that my son, Faramir has taken great pains to maintain. It would be a great honour if such a book could be written at your convenience of course. Thankfully, Merry has preserved some copies of the notes and appendices that our dear friends left behind prior to their departure for fairer lands. I send these to you now for safe keeping…_

The request was honored with vigor. In compiling the many accounts of those yet living who recall the War of the Ring and the Battle for Hogwarts – many of these tales may seem almost mythical in scope. A book by the King's Writer, some years after the passing of King was written and has been dubbed the Red Book of the Westmarch which is now in the hands of Elanor's family.

It was about a few months before my grandmother, seven times removed, died of old age requested her daughter Rose Weasley to continue with compiling the histories of that time. That task was handed down from family to family until at last – 135 years later it is finished.

A copy of our account has since been forwarded to the Great Smials where it is known by the descendants of those brave halflings as _The Green Book of the Great Smials_. I am told by Meriadoc Took that the book is usually taken out to be read to mischievous hobbits when the weather is far too dreary.

Another copy of our finished manuscript has been kept preserved in the Gondorian library. It is one of the chief texts of history used apart from many other timeless manuscripts. In that fair city I am told that our document is known as the _Chronicles of the Spelllsingers_ where many of the age's chief entertainments are based from what can be garnered therein.

Whatever our tale is called – to those of us descended from the Weasleys, Potters, Dursleys and a slew of the many Ancient and Noble Houses from that bygone age – this book is our legacy. Those who read through the long accounts may take what they can from it.

It is my own personal hope that by learning from the past that my children and their children may forge ahead towards a brighter future.

- Iris P. Barlow  
7th day of Nárië, IV 198  
(_May 7, 2205 GC_)

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

Standard disclaimers apply - I do not own any of J.K. Rowling or J.R.R. Tolkien's work. I am merely playing in the sandbox of fantasy that has been provided for my overactive imagination. I am so grateful to all of those who have stuck to the story _Of Hobbits, Rings and Magic_ of which this story is the re-written, re-worked yet altogether different version of. I will leave the 'original' story up for those of you to read to compare my writing styles, otherwise I hope you will enjoy this as much as I've had fun reworking things out. On to the next chapter! Reviews are highly appreciated.

Sincerely,  
Dae


	2. The Boy With Green Eyes

**Chronicles of the Spellsingers  
****Part 1: The Wizard of the Shire**

**I  
**_**The Boy with Green Eyes**_

_He lived alone, as Bilbo had done; but he had a good many friends…but more often he wandered by himself, and to the amazement of sensible folk he was sometimes seen far from home walking in the hills and woods under the starlight.  
_

_The Fellowship of the Ring_, p. 56  
J.R.R. Tolkien

* * *

Mornings in the Shire are often quiet. He enjoyed the tranquility that came from the moment he set out from his door. He wandered past the familiar paths wondering if today was the day he, Frodo Baggins, would leave the Shire for faraway adventures. He hummed the tune of an old walking song his uncle had passed down to him which quickly became singing.

There was now a low mist covering the hills, not uncommon while the sun still lay low before the approaching dawn. Frodo had walked these paths for so long that he knew every nook, every rock and leaf. In the back of his mind he thought today would be like any other day.

_The Road goes ever on and on _

_Under cloud and under star, _

_Yet feet that wandering have gone _

_Turn at last to home afar…_

Yes mornings in the Shire are peaceful. Nothing unexpected happened in the dawning morn for all hobbits still lay tucked up in bed asleep. Yet, as Frodo proceeded with his early jaunt, his sharp eyes caught as if a whisper – a rustling movement. Perhaps a slight wind in the trees yet even from where he stood, there was no breeze. His face furrowed into a frown. That was odd. He looked up, then behind, before resting his gaze upon the hill where the Party Tree stood.

There beneath the old tree something was not quite right. Curiosity welled from deep within Frodo.

"Lo, what's this?"

A figure lay prone at the roots of the old tree. From where he stood – the hobbit could tell it was only a little bit bigger than a normal hobbit. Blue eyes flashing, knees with a slight tremble and a deep breath – the hobbit drew closer…

He was a quarter up the hill...

Now about half way…

Almost ten hobbits distance…

Perhaps another step then…

"Master Frodo?"

"Sam!" He was completely surprised. "Samwise Gamgee, good gracious – I had not even seen you there."

A small man with curling corn-colour hair, pointed ears and decent sized hairy feet looked at his master quite confused. The hobbit – for he was also one like Frodo – was the young gardener of Bag End. He had seen his master by the Party Tree as still as stone and wondered why a decent gentlehobbit would be paused like that. He approached from behind his master to see whatever it was the older hobbit was looking at.

"I should say not sir," Sam said slowly. "What are you doing about the Party Tree so early in the morning?"

"There's something beneath the tree."

The pair of hobbits both stared towards where Frodo gestured. Without any words the curious duo drew closer to the figure that had caught their attention.

"By Old Tobey, tis a child of the big folk!" Sam gasped. And indeed it was. The child lay in clothes that reminded the gardener of old peeling bark. Midnight hair strewn in matted dark red patches across the crown of his head. Frowns were etched in the pair of hobbits' faces when it became apparent that one of the child's ankles was bent at an awkward angle.

"Sam, quick – get the Gaffer and old Lily. Hurry – I'll stay here." Frodo commanded as he moved determinedly to the boy. The blonde hobbit nodded while flashing blue eyes focused on the child. A familiar solemn expression crossed Frodo's face as he also saw that the red patches were indeed blood.

"Hello boy?" Frodo reached out his hand to touch the boy only to draw back, again startled. A pair of eyes as bright and green as the leaves of a tree in sunlight stared back at him.

0 0 0

It was later in the evening as Sam helped Frodo prepare supper that they reflected what had occurred earlier in the day. The Gaffer, Old Lily and almost every hobbit that had woken up to the urgent bustling of Bag End soon came to know of the boy of the big folk. The child was patched up as best as they could. Thankfully the child's injuries were not as awful as they first thought. However, _he's going to need as much rest as possible Master Frodo_, Old Lily expressed to Frodo with a firm glare.

"Tis not right Mr. Frodo," Sam muttered as he put a swath of wide pork chops sprinkled with salt and pepper on to a hot frying pan. "What is a big folk's child doing out here? Bree is miles to the West and barely any big folk have been known to wander out to these parts."

"Aye," Frodo nodded in agreement. "I do not think he hails from Bree. His skin is a bit too fair and his features are a bit more delicate than normal folk."

"Gaffer said earlier that Bree folk are hard worked with browned skins." The blonde hobbit carefully flipped the frying meat so that it would cook evenly.

"The boy seems to me quite fair, almost as if he hadn't worked a day in his life if you did not care for his hands and feet." Frodo mused.

"Oh?"

"Yes," the dark haired hobbit murmured as he placed a plate of scones made from earlier in the day on the table. "His hands and feet are more worn than the rest of him."

"Gaffer said that the child was quite small – all skin and bones."

Frodo chuckled. "I recall Old Lily had a fit when she came round with her bags of herbs for healing. I think she said we had better look after the boy since we took her away from the important business of quilting."

Sam snorted. "I think these chops are about ready Sir."

Quite quickly the meat had become well browned before being plated on one of the china dishes Frodo's uncle had inherited from Belladonna Took. The sweet aroma of freshly sliced apples joined the air. Both hobbits took comfort that their last meal of the night would not only be hearty but enjoyable.

"This looks quite a feast." Frodo commented absently as he set the table. "Well done Sam." Between the pair – the blonde hobbit was the better cook and seemed to grin shyly at the praise.

Shortly after – Frodo's table was laden with pork chops with fried apples, scones ready for buttering, a bowl of simple salad, roasted potatoes and onions with a couple glasses of the West Farthing's Best Elderberry wine for good measure.

The two hobbits sat down together for their meal quite pleased with what they would be devouring in a few short moments.

Like many hobbits that found themselves in Bag End that day – the state of the boy had been quite a shock. There weren't many tragedies in the Shire. The most well-known being the deaths of Frodo's parents. Still – hobbits as a rule were peace loving folk. To see children rough-housed with bruises and come about so poorly would certainly be cause for uproar, even if it was a child of the big folk.

The pair of hobbits knew, like all decent folk, that warm and hearty food would comfort them from having to ensure the safety of the young lad.

"It seems quite odd that child of the big folk has found themselves lost in the Shire especially in that state." Sam mused through a mouthful of taters. His master nodded although the dark haired hobbit looked more thoughtful as he chewed.

For a time, there was silence for hobbits loved their food and their drink. The simplicity a hearty meal after a long day made up for having to dodge the interest of hobbits like Lobeila Sackville-Baggins or Mrs. Cottage – Farmer Cottage's nosy wife. While Sam reached half way for another scone to butter and Frodo drank deeply from his glass of wine, they didn't notice a pair of verdant eyes scrutinizing them from the darkness of the nearest hall.

The child had woken to the smell of delightful food and the warmth of comfort. These two things was not what he was used to. In fact, he lived much of his short life in the cupboard, under the stairs. Food was often difficult to come by as his aunt and uncle thought him an ungrateful nuisance.

The child recalled a funny man with dark curly brown hair, asking him questions in a language he could not understand. He remembered he'd been in pain – even now there was a twinge of it about his head and left ankle. He remembered eyes like the sky shining with worry.

He remembered trying to stay awake even as the worried man was replaced by one with wrinkles and a kind face. He remembered a sharp woman's muttering. He remembered the feel of leathery, warm hands binding his ankle with practiced ease. He recalled closing his eyes when a warm towel sponged of the blood about his head. He remembered the slight prick of a needle through skin and its sting.

He did not remember falling back to sleep. He was unaware of the hustle and bustle about his person. He was unaware of an old hobbit woman barking orders for water and other herbs. He was unaware of being moved gently on to a cart laden with straw and a few hobbit jackets. He was unaware of the care that was taken to bring him into Bag End. He was unaware he had lain sleeping for most of the day. To the hobbits of the Shire - his coming was so unusual since nothing usually happened there.

At one point, Frodo had stayed vigil by his side for nearly three hours only to be asked by his best friend Merry to eat something before afternoon tea ended. Said best friend took over Frodo's spot for a time. Then just as the sun began to sink low the troupe of hobbits crowding Bag End thought it best to leave Sam and Frodo while they rallied themselves at the Green Dragon. These same hobbits would return for dinner at some point to ensure all was well before turning in for the night.

All throughout – the boy peacefully slept. It was only the aroma of warm, comforting food that roused him from his slumber. As quietly as he could, despite how weak he felt – the boy got up and out from bed. He used whatever he could to keep himself aright. Using the walls, doors, any piece of sturdy furniture really to hobble out from the sleeping chambers to where the smell of food came from.

Now he was looking at the pair of hobbits eating at the dining room table with amusement. It took the sensitive hearing of Sam to notice the first signs of the strange boy. Unfortunately Sam had stuffed his insides with pork therefore was unable to speak. Instead he lightly – for a hobbit anyway – kicked at his master's closes foot. The message was received when the darker haired hobbit looked up from his plate.

In the soft light of the nearby fireplace and candles around the hobbit hole he saw the pale, drawn out boy. He was a small thing even though he could have been a bit taller than Sam. His hands were wrapped around the arch siding of the dining hall's entrance. Looking at him, the boy only looked as delicate as he did due to his waif-like structure. With some food, time and patience – he would be as hale as any lad. Although, Old Lily stated the boy may not be able to walk as normal. The boy's ankle had twisted enough that it would leave him with a slight limp for the rest of his life.

"Hello boy." Frodo said. The child frowned as if something was wrong. "Lad, come sit by us."

A furrowed look of confusion – that's what Frodo realized that crossed the child's face as Frodo gestured to the chair beside him. With a look shared between the two hobbits – Sam left his place to go to the mystery child. He offered his arm with a grunt. The boy looked at the hobbit with bright eyes.

"He looks as if he'd never seen a hobbit before." Sam grumbled. "He can't be from Bree then."

"Many of the Big Folk have never seen hobbits before." Frodo mused. "Go on boy – take Sam's arm. He won't hurt you."

The boy watched this exchange with a thoughtful look now. Slowly, tentatively he latched upon the gardener's arm. With aid he sat down in the chair offered him.

"There now," Frodo grinned once the child was sat. Sam bustled about the kitchen to grab a plate, a bowl and some utensils for the boy to use. As he did so Frodo began questioning the pale boy. "I am Frodo, that there is Samwise. What is your name?"

There was a moment of silence before the child sighed in resignation. _Harry, my name is Harry. Where am I?_

Sam stopped in shock and stared at the boy. Frodo too looked at the child in confusion. The boy seemed to sink within himself.

"What language is that?" Sam asked uselessly.

"Oh dear," Frodo murmured. "Erm – Haerree? Your name is Haerree?"

Oh dear indeed.

* * *

_Author's Note_

Standard disclaimer applicable. No profit being made. And honestly - did you really think I would leave you hanging with such a dry preface?

Sincerely,  
Dae


	3. An Aunt Cries and Two Wizards Sigh

**Warning: **AU elements incoming; you have been warned.

* * *

**II**

**An Aunt Cries and Two Wizards Sigh**

I am tired of the wind –

Oh, wind, wind, be quiet…

I am burdened by the days

Of wailing and long riot.

The heavy trees are thinned;

The clouds lose their ways…

There's no rest in my mind.

'_I am Tired of the Wind'_, Gordon Bottomley

"Mrs. Dursley –"

"Evans," she interrupted quickly. "Please, you mistake me for my sister – I'm Violet Evans."

The man in front of her gave her a neutral look. His shiny bald head glinting as he seemed to nod his head in her direction. Sharp brown eyes peered at her from behind square rimmed glasses that sat perfectly upon his nose. Violet noted the laugh lines and frown lines etched all over Dr. Helmsley's face. This was a man who knew his profession like the back of his aging, veiny hands.

"Ms. Evans," Dr. Helmsley began. "As you well know your nephew is in a vegetative state. There is no real way to know for sure if he will ever recover. It is unfortunate. We may have to look at a long term plan to keep him elsewhere as Dorking does not have quite the facilities necessary for your nephew's care."

She was stunned and numb. It was now approaching a year since "The Incident" – the one caused by the Dursleys.

"Are you positive?" Violet asked, trying to steady her shaking hands about her handbag, the handles twisting between nervous fingers.

"Yes," he nodded. "Despite the surprising recovery of your nephew's injuries thanks perhaps in part to the efforts of Dr. Andrews – it is quite difficult to sustain the long term care necessary for Mr. Potter's health. It is my suggestion to you after careful review to perhaps consider moving the boy to London."

"London?" Violet parroted.

"There is a special ward of St. Bart's Hospital for after-care that may be what your nephew will need. It is clear to us in Dorking that unfortunately we just do not have the right sort of resources for the long term care of your nephew." Dr. Helmsley seemed to have aged as he watched her with that steady gaze.

She nodded grimly. "I see. I shall see what I can do then. When would he have to be moved?"

"He would have to be moved as soon as possible. This situation is regrettable considering we have kept him here for nearly a year now." Dr. Helmsley stated.

Violet sat there in uncomfortable silence. The doctor pursed his lips slightly before sighing.

"The question of moving him must be answered within the next 48 Hours for there is now pressure from the board as to the longevity of Mr. Potter's treatment." Dr. Helmsley stated.

"They wish to stop Harry's treatment?" The slight keening pitch of the question made the poor doctor flinch. He always hated that about the loved ones of the patients he treated. "You mean…"

"Yes."

"I will give you a call back tomorrow. This requires," Violet tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat to no avail. "Yes, this requires some time to consider. I – I have to go."

"Of course, let me see you out."

Violet had stood hastily albeit shakily. "That's fine sir, I can let myself out."

Dr. Helmsley watched the woman again with that same neutral expression. She didn't care. She had a choice to make – one that would change her nephew's life and hers…again.

She barely registered her moving away from the stuffy, sterile doctor's office. She knew she was heading to her nephew's room. She knew visiting hours hadn't quite started but she needed to see him. She needed to see the boy that had rocked her world that she had begrudgingly learned how to love. It was a testament to the shock Violet was feeling when she didn't even feel the tears trekking slowly down her face.

By the time she reached Harry's room she collapsed, all strength drawn out.

"Please," she pleaded through gasps of breath as she cried uncontrollably for the first time in many years. "Please Harry, please wake up."

0 0 0

He stood among a crowd at Drumahair;

His heart hung all upon a silken dress,

And he had known at last some tenderness…

'_The Man who Dreamed of Faeryland'_, W.B. Yeats

"Harry!" Frodo shouted. "Sticklebats, where is he? Harry!"

It was about the 2nd of Rethe (February 22, GC) by Sire-reckoning and had been dreadfully wet recently since it was the storm season. All about the Shire, many a gentle hobbit had to ensure their holes were quite dry as too much of the rain could come crashing down about them.

Frodo had a different problem altogether. It was the first sunny day in about a week as most of the time the Shire was cast in mist or gray clouds blocking the sun ever so often. As what usually happens after such dark days, the children and tweens of the Shire would traverse about the fields to get into trouble or play. Harry – his charge – seemed to start with the latter and end with the first.

Since that fateful day, four years had passed.

Life in Bag End was not the same when you housed a boy of the Big Folk. Clothes, utensils, plates, and other important things had to be built a bit bigger than normal hobbit ware. The child had to be taught to speak Common Tongue as well as the history of the area. Then there was refining the child's skills in creating useful items that perhaps the one day would use. Frodo had no misconceptions that one day – if not now then some-when in the future – Harry would leave the Shire to live elsewhere.

Even now Frodo would always be grateful to Fredegar "Fatty" Bolger. It had been about a month or so since the boy came to the Shire that through despairing miscommunication – Fatty discovered Harry could cook. Since then, teaching the boy became easier. Alas, it also meant that Frodo now knew about Harry's taste for wide, open spaces. Perhaps an inconvenience since the lad had his morning lessons – something Frodo, Merry and Folco attempted to teach him every morning.

"Harry!" Frodo called whilst sticking his head out the back door. "Harry!"

He sighed. Goodness, where was that boy? Checking the pantry, dining room area and sitting area once more he found a slip of paper. With a sigh and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Frodo could not help but smile. The grammar could still use work but the boy was alright in terms of writing.

_Uncle,_

_I am at East Farthing woods. _

_Wait for Gandalf_.

_Harry_

A month ago the pair had received a letter from the grey wizard who'd come ever-so often to the Shire for a visit. The first time Harry met the venerable old man cloaked in grey – they bonded. There was a kinship between the two even though neither could communicate to each other very well. Soon the grey bearded man would visit – often during the night and would leave in the morn before dawn rose. His visits were short but on some days when they had a warning, Gandalf's visits could be drawn out for a couple days.

Frodo sighed. The day to teach the boy about the lands beyond the Shire could wait. After all, Gandalf knew more than he did.

0 0 0

Out in the East Farthing Woods where the trees were lush although a bit damp due to the rain sat a young boy the age of twelve. The boy looked hale despite the paleness of his skin. Chin length, wavy hair untamed by length adorned his head like black silk. Green eyes the colour of the same trees around him seemingly focused on the piece of parchment in front of him.

Soft subtle strokes adorned the pieces of paper in black charcoal. Despite the roughness of the sketching Harry had been able to capture enough detail of the seemingly imaginary person before him. He didn't know where his mind wandered off to see this image. After all – he had never seen this woman although she did look rather familiar.

Musing aside Harry suddenly heard the tell-tale noise of fabric against the grass. In a flurry of movement the young boy shoved his parchment and charcoal into the bag he'd made to sling across his shoulders. In a scurry he was able to go to a ledge that sloped just a little over a well-known and well-worn path.

The familiar gray hat pointed to a recognizable tip, the comfortable humming of a familiar song and a staff of twisted brown wood came into sight.

"Good morning."

The tall man cloaked in gray paused in his walk. Bushy eyebrows rose revealing wizened gray-blue eyes twinkling in mirth.

"Are you merely wishing me a good morning or is this morning merely good?" He asked with a tone brimming in amusement.

"Perhaps I am wishing you a good morning or merely stating this morning is good, better yet both at once!" Harry replied with a mischievous grin.

"Goodness, the insolence of youth!" Gandalf exclaimed before chuckling heartily. The boy jumped from the sloped easily and gave the aged man a hug.

"Hello Gandalf." Harry grinned.

The pair began walking along the path peaceably. The boy showing the drawings he'd sketched for the Wizard's keen eyes to look upon. Gandalf asked about his health and Frodo's. In return Harry asked him about the affairs of the world to which the older man would distract him from.

"My dear boy – there is really nothing to worry about. Bree still bustles with people and the peoples of Gondor remain there." Gandalf shook his head with a grin.

"I suppose," Harry sighed. "It's just lately I've been restless."

"Oh?"

"Well, not really – just, well, I can tell you things without Frodo knowing right?" The boy asked warily.

Gandalf grunted to encourage him to go further. A look of surprise and slight weariness marring the elderly wizards face for but a moment.

"There was an incident about a couple days ago regarding a pig."

Out of all things that was not what Gandalf thought would come from the lad's mouth.

"A pig you say?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "There were a few children having problems with their little pig being lost in the fields near Farmer Cottage's. I did my best to help them but I couldn't find the creature in time. I…well, something odd happened."

"Indeed."

"Yes, um," Harry frowned momentarily as if gathering his thoughts. "Well see – odd things have happened to me before. Well, before I came to the Shire w-with my…well, my family."

It was rare for Harry to share or say so much. The boy's speech was still lacking and lilting with a fairly strong accent. From what Gandalf had gathered from Frodo after the first shock wore off of meeting the boy the first time – the child had arrived hurt, ankle twisted. Even now the boy limped slightly – unnoticeable if one wasn't so keen to observe him. Not much could be known about the boy.

"I – I think I have magic Gandalf."

That too was a shock.

"What brought you to that thought Harry?" Gandalf asked.

The boy was silent for a moment, then two and for a few minutes Gandalf thought the boy would not deem to share anything with him.

"I made the pig fly. I had gotten so discouraged that I just asked, well pleaded to the sky to bring the pig to me. And it worked." Harry stumbled over his words in a murmur.

"I see."

"What do you think sir?"

Gandalf huffed in thought. "Magic is not an exact thing Harry although there have been times I suspected you having such."

Gobsmacked Harry paused to look at the wizard. He still continued to stare at the wizened man's back as he continued about the path in careful ease.

"Y-y-you suspected I was magical?"

"Aye," Gandalf nodded. "Frodo did mention you appeared quite unnaturally beneath the Party Tree the day they found you."

Harry quickly walked to catch up to the older man. In the ensuing hour it took for the pair to reach Bag End they dissected all that could be spoken about Harry's quiet and subtle appearance to the peace of the Shire.

0 0 0

Elsewhere, a man in dark purple robes covered as if in silver twinkling starlight looked pensively at the gray basin before him. The ensuing months since Harry was hurt by Petunia Dursley and the discovery of a third Evans sister aged the man. He'd grown weak and even resigned from the Wizengamot and ICW. His focus now only as being the Headmaster of the most prestigious school in Britain.

"Fawkes," he murmured to the flaming bird near him. "May I one day be forgiven of the follies of an old man."

He sighed. Mistakes had been made, mistakes he had to rectify.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Standard Disclaimers apply. Many sincere thanks to all your reviews, follows and favorites. Please be advised many of your questions will be answered as I go along. To the reviewer who asked about Bilbo's whereabouts - he's in Rivendell! Well...I'll run away from the tomatoes now although reviews are more than welcome!


	4. A Chapter of Many Happenings

**III**

**A Chapter of Many Happenings**

Seven years ago – Harry James Potter thought he would never have any friends, any family or really any place to call home. Seven years ago he lived in a staid neighborhood in the town of Little Whinging. His family – the Dursleys – kept him in the cupboard under the stairs. He celebrated his birthday with ratty old socks and cobwebs.

Of course that had changed a day in May when he was being chased about by his cousin Dudley and Dudley's gang. Harry frowned. He never really liked all of the stress that came with remembering about that time.

"Harry?"

The boy sat up upon hearing his name. He'd been spending the day lying sprawled out in the orchard outside Bag End enjoying the first official day of spring. He had been given the day off from chores about the hobbit hole since in a few days he'd be heading off to Bree.

"Fiddlesticks, Harry!"

"Uncle Frodo – I'm in the orchard."

"Gracious lad!" his uncle looked at him – dark curling hair arranged in an untidy mess while his sharp, blue eyes looked sternly at him. "We've been about looking for you all day. Old Lily is about to give me a beating – she came all the way to see you for your birthday."

The black haired boy stared at his uncle before getting up unceremoniously from his spot in the yard.

Yes, seven years ago he never thought he'd ever have something as amazing a birthday.

0 0 0

**May 7, 1988**

Not much happened in Little Whinging.

"9-9-9, please state your emergency."

"There's a boy! A boy got hit by a car j-j-just outside my house!"

"9-9-9, please state your emergency."

"I am calling to report a terrible accident."

"9-9-9, please state your emergency."

"I was walking my dog by Wisteria Walk and a car just hit a boy."

Constable Joseph Parker had seen many things in his life – some worse than others. Although he never had to deal with such dismally difficult people such as the residents of Number 4 Privet Drive. First there was Mrs. Dursley, a pale haired woman with an elongated neck reminding him sadly of a horse. She was completely hysterical.

"My Duddy, Duddy!" she kept crying over her son.

"Mom, I'm alright, I'm alright – Harry – how's Harry?"

The ridiculousness of some people was enough to give him a headache.

"Sir – Mr. Dursley, sir."

"Thank you Hansen, Mrs. Dursley your husband – "

"VERNON!"

"PET!"

"For the love of the Queen and my bald head," grumbled Constable Joseph Parker. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley – your nephew is being taken to Little Whinging Hospital and your assistance with this matter would be greatly appreciated."

Of course, the older Dursleys barely heard the man over their blubbering and screeching. Their son didn't seem to care much for that mess.

"Sir," Dudley said. "I'll go with you to the hospital."

Constable Parker realized today was going to be an extremely unpleasant, considerably long day.

0 0 0

"Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain!"

"And the stream that falls from hill to plain."

"Better than rain or rippling brook…"

"IS A MUG OF BEER INSIDE THIS TOOK!"

There was a loud cheer as every hobbit and one Harry Potter present took large chugs from the frothy mugs clutched firmly in their hands.

"Ah!" Pippin grinned toothily. "This here is the stuff of legends. Best ale from the West Farthing to date!"

"Aye and you're the young Took who'll look more foolish with every swallow!" Gaffer chuckled.

"Right you are Gaffer!" Pippin cried stumbling backwards as he let out a loud burp.

His birthday party was in full swing and Harry couldn't have been happier. He felt a small, bony hand on his wrist. He looked down to see Old Lily looking up at him.

"Come boy, have something more to eat!" She encouraged him. "I know Master Frodo feeds you but bless my bonnet you are still as skinny as a rake. Come, come!"

"I don't think even Sam's Toad-in-a-Hole can fill out our young Harry." Merry chuckled as he witnessed the elderly hobbit feed the pale faced human boy.

"Quiet Master Brandybuck." Folco grinned. "Else you'll be next on Old Lily's check-up list. I think it's been a few months since the last one."

"Indeed it has been!" Old Lily replied slyly. "It has been a while for you Master Boffin and if I recall Master Baggins too!"

Again more merriment was to be had while Harry sat at the table taking in some of Sam's Toad-in-a-Hole. He was going to miss this once he got to Bree. Since his chat with Gandalf a few years ago – it was apparent he needed to make his way out of the Shire and learn more about the world. He was supposed to meet the wizard at the Inn of the Prancing Pony for his next set of instructions. It was Harry's hope he would be able to join the wizard on one of his adventures. Still – he would miss this.

"Bah, all this talk of check-ups and proddings from our pretty hobbit lady is getting to be old." Pippin said.

"Indeed?" Frodo finally asked. "What do you propose cousin?"

"I say we sing young Harry a song before he goes off into the world!" Fatty laughed aloud.

Pippin sloppily raised his mug in agreement. Swiftly he began, "You can keep your fancy ales!"

"You can drink them by the flagon." Merry rejoined.

"But the only brew for the brave and true…" Everyone sang.

"Comes from the Green Dragon!"

Yes, Harry loved his birthday.

0 0 0

**May 11, 1988**

Violet Evans, age 42, considered herself one of those rare breeds of women. Considerably tall at 5'9" with ash-blond hair and eyes an interesting shade of green; she knew she was beautiful. Her many beaus throughout her personal history loved her long legs and curves in the right places. Still, none of them really kept her attention long enough to keep around.

Perhaps that's why she never married, never had children and lived a life of adventure. She had been to the pyramids of Egypt, spent time sampling the life in Japan, crossed the Amazon River with the locals and worked with the poorest of the poor in the streets of Calcutta. She dug up ancient ruins, gave aid where aid was needed and always wrote.

Her pen saw her through some interesting times and made her a fortune thanks to her work with National Geographic. Violet made it her mission never to settle down if she didn't want to. Then again nothing could have prepared her for the past year watching as her mother died from a disease without a cure. Cancer – it was a horrendous word.

She sighed. Looking about her – she couldn't believe she was here. London, a city she swore herself never to visit willingly since she was in her twenties due to her mother and father's history.

In the summer of 1945, her mother Jane McAvoy, a young Canadian nurse had finally consummated her love with a young English Doctor named Christopher Harold Evans. Jane couldn't stay in England to help with post-war effort so she left for home on the rock of St. John's, Newfoundland. There she bore her only child into the world – Violet Christina Evans.

Perhaps it was the fact they had been friends first before the intimacy bore them a daughter but Jane and Christopher kept in touch. They wrote often and a lot regarding their lives. It was surprising when Christopher told Jane he had married another woman. From then on, Violet had resented her father. She would ignore the gifts he sent her or write back only when she felt like being generous to the man who left her mother and her to survive on their own.

Years later, she never had cared much for her father until she received a letter from Lily, a Lily Potter to be exact, her half-sister. Lily wrote to her shortly after their father's death in March 1978. She first informed Violet of the cause of their father's death, about the family she never knew through her father's side and of Lily's family. Although she seldom wrote back, this half-sister of hers would write every month for nearly three years until the letters stopped.

In November 1981 – she found herself the recipient of her only letter from her other half-sister, Petunia informing her that Lily and her husband died in a car crash. They left behind her nephew, Harry Potter in Petunia's care. From what she gathered from that letter Harry was unwanted by her half-sister, something she worried about but in her grief couldn't do anything about.

She spent years buried in work attempting to forget about her father, his daughters and her nephews. It wasn't until after her mother's death just last year that she realized – she needed family. She couldn't be alone any more. It had taken some time to forgive herself, forgive her parents and to look forward. She felt regret, guilt and a build-up of nervous energy. After years denying you had family – how could you go about embracing the one you had?

"Hello miss," said the teller at the car-rental store near her hotel. "How can I help you?"

"I would like to rent a car please. It will be for the week."

Sadly, her stay would be far longer than anticipated.

0 0 0

"All set Harry?" Frodo asked with a sad smile. It was early in the morning and the scheduled trip to Bree was under way.

"Yes Uncle!" Harry grinned. "I'm all packed and ready to go."

Frodo nodded. "Good."

They stood there quietly in the waiting hall; the older hobbit to the younger boy. It would be the last time for a little while at least they would be able to talk to each other.

"I'm glad you took me in you know." Harry began conversationally.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I think – without you and Sam and the others I probably would not have lived."

A watery smile graced the hobbit's face. He nodded uncertain what to do with the intensity of feeling that rushed through him that could be felt from the tip of his hairy feet to the top of his curly head. "Any good, gentle hobbit would have done the same."

Harry shook his head. "No I dare say not."

"I am certain if Gaffer or Old Lily found you – they would have cared for you until you were well and fit as rain." Frodo stated.

"Perhaps, but they wouldn't have taken time to ensure I learned my letters or my numbers. They wouldn't have taken time to teach me the places of Middle Earth or helped me find a craft I would find useful." Harry mused.

Frodo chuckled humorlessly. "Lad, the day is getting long, it is best you be going now."

"Aye uncle," Harry said. "Well, good-bye."

"Yes, good-bye," Frodo stated watching as the boy went out his door. "Good luck, Harry Potter."

The boy himself was long gone as the sun rose over the familiar fields near Bag End. Outside that old hobbit hole though sat Frodo, his eyes looking ever at the rolling hills. A part of his heart was lost and gone with the boy who had just left him a few hours ago.

0 0 0

**May 27, 1988 **

"You mean to tell me my nephew – our nephew – Lily's son has been living in a cupboard under the stairs?" Violet was furious looking at the woman who had the same ash-blonde hair as her.

"He was a freak! He came from freaks!" Petunia cried.

"Lily was not a freak." Violet thundered. "I received letters from her since the time our father died!"

The two women were in the park outside Dorking's tiny hospital arguing about something Dudley had said a few moments before. The women had left the boy to stay with Harry for a bit so they could talk. Talking was more optional in this case.

"You wouldn't have known, would you?" Petunia hissed. "You weren't there when we were children!"

"No I wasn't." Violet fumed. "Yet what our parents did we cannot hold over them for the rest of their lives. But what you have done to Harry is despicable."

"Any normal person who has to deal with the rot that came from Lily and _her_ folk would have done the same!"

"Harry is almost nine! Nine years and you've kept him in a cupboard under the stairs. That means the boy has been abused since he was eight years old!" Violet exclaimed.

"I DID NOT ABUSE HIM!" Petunia bellowed.

The two women glared at each other for some time – neither of them caring of what others thought of them.

"If you call not giving the boy much to eat, keeping him in a cupboard, giving him your boy's hand-me-downs that don't quite fit or making him do chores as described to me by your own son as not being abusive I do not know what is." Violet said finally. "I have seen the poorest of the poor. You may not have starved him to death but you might as well have. I take my leave. Next time you hear from me – it will be through a solicitor."

With that Violet marched away knowing her life had changed the moment she came looking for Lily Potter's son.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing. I know it's a bit dull right now and some of the questions asked haven't been answered but bear with me! It will get better...I hope! :) All reviews are greatly and highly appreciated. Special acknowledgments and thanks to Nimrodel626, Jisra Lumina and AquilaCinero for your lengthy words of encouragement and feedback.

- Dae


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